


The Spider, the Tiger, & the Kitten

by Flightless_Bird



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, Frustration, Implied Violence, Language, Pre-Relationship, but they don’t know yet, flustered!sebastian, i wrote this for fun lol, implied suicidal thoughts, jim in a suit because yes, might be OOC?, moriarty is annoyed by a kitten, self-indulgent scribbling, they are in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 06:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14350107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flightless_Bird/pseuds/Flightless_Bird
Summary: “None of the staff could figure out what it was, most likely because none of them had bothered to actually look. They were trained professionals, accustomed to the gunfire of a battlefield or the constant vigilance of their asset.They certainly were not accustomed to handling small animals breaking and entering into one of the many acquired homes of their employer, and driving the entirety of the operation mad.”





	The Spider, the Tiger, & the Kitten

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be me just having fun one day with my fav characters, but then it turned into an actual fic so i decided to post it. I’ve never written these guys before so if it’s out of character, I apologize haha. I hope you like it! Leave a comment, let me know what you liked; i’d love to hear from you guys :3  
> Thanks for stopping by to read!

 

It had been repeating for days. The endless, nagging _noises_. None of the staff could figure out what it was, most likely because none of them had bothered to actually look. They were trained professionals, accustomed to the gunfire of a battlefield or the constant vigilance of their asset.

They certainly were not accustomed to handling small animals breaking and entering into one of the many acquired homes of their employer, and driving the entirety of the operation mad.

When they were alone (rare moments indeed, and it was questionable as to whether or not they were truly alone at all), some wagered that it might be a raccoon. Others insisted that it was smaller—a squirrel perhaps. A few wanted to hire an exterminator. A couple more itched to take a machine gun to the air ducts.

Jim Moriarty didn’t care how it happened, the inane thing had made it to the ducts above his sleeping quarters last night, and he wanted it dead.

There was the obvious option of an exterminator, but the thought of hiring some dull-minded pest control service made him want to gag. (The machine gun idea was considered and very nearly played out; had he not had a meeting shortly after acquiring said machine gun and was deterred since) He briefly thought about ordering Moran into the air ducts. The man had crawled into some godawful place after a tiger, after all, and that had been of his free will. However, when mentioned to him in passing—“I’m tempted to send one of my best into the damn ducts after the thing”—Sebastian had given him a glare that spoke volumes of just how _well_ it would go should he be permitted to take a gun into Moriarty’s air ducts.

(“It’s pretty dark put here. Would be a shame if a stray bullet happened to find you.”

“Fuck you, Moran.”)

And so, Moriarty was effectively stuck.

It was driving him up the wall with loathing.

Two weeks into the whole affair, he could be found walking along a narrow corridor toward said sleeping quarters. It had been a rather long, arduous day: two meetings, one of which had gone a bit sour toward the end. He had been looking forward to working with that particular crime lord, it was a shame he had to piss him off and get a bullet to the head. Then there was the paperwork. Anything that needed done in that department, forgeries, fake ID’s, they were handled by one of his many employees. The head of that department had broken his hand recently and claimed he was unable to complete the task. Moriarty was utterly disgusted to find that the job now fell to him, if he wanted it done correctly. So, he grudgingly accepted the paperwork, broke the man’s other hand for good measure, and left.

The godforsaken animal had skittered somewhere above his head on the way out and he’d nearly fired a round into the ceiling.

He was so pissed off, he almost walked to 221B Baker Street just to get someone else as mad as he was.

He was passing the entryway to the kitchen area when he heard the faint clatter of dishes and heaved a sigh. Shit. He’d forgotten about the whole “live-in bodyguard” thing. Entertaining? Yes. Sometimes annoying? Absolutely. Especially now.

“Hey, Boss, you know the, uh, animal moved into your room again today.” Sebastian’s voice carried through the doorway a moment before he appeared. He leaned against the doorframe, a granola bar in hand; he’d shed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down. The teasing glint in his eyes made Moriarty want to break his legs.

Damn sniper. “Don’t call me ‘Boss,’” he replied flatly. “Makes me sound like I’m running the fucking mafia.”

“What would you prefer then?” Sebastian asked with feigned politeness. He was lucky he was nearly indispensable in his position. “‘Jimmy?’”

“Call me that again and I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’ve seen me end lives for far less.”

“Yes, but I bet you’d hesitate.” A trace of the crooked, killer’s smile flickered across Sebastian’s lips then.

Moriarty let his gaze skate over the sniper’s lithe form for a moment. _Wonder how many weapons he has hiding under those clothes_. Then he rolled his eyes. “You flatter yourself.”

“That’s almost a compliment, coming from you,” Sebastian pointed out wryly. Moriarty was already beginning to walk away again, so he abandoned the argument for a moment to call after him. “Saw your friend today, by the way. Mr. Charles Jackson? The one that worked with us a month ago and then tried to sell us out?”

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry to have missed him,” Moriarty replied, an odd note entering his voice. “Did you send him my regards, like I asked?”

“Of course. Actually ended up asking for forgiveness for his behavior. Multiple times.” Sebastian’s tone took on that note too, the one that reminded Moriarty of gunshots in the night, and mad laughter, and the slow slide of blood.

Moriarty tossed a rare, devil’s smile over his shoulder. “That’s my tiger,” he practically purred, letting his voice pitch down in that way that could make people shiver. He thought he saw a tinge of red in Sebastian’s face and the sniper dropped his eyes away.

Moriarty continued to his room, still smilingslightly. The live-ins could be a little annoying, yes, but so much fun to play with. 

He made it to his own quarters in the next few moments, shut and locked the door, loosened his tie, turned around—and stopped dead.

There was a cat on his bed.

No—a kitten. There was a fucking kitten on his bed. It turned its head toward him at the click of the door, ears pricked. Its fur stuck up in odd places and there was a bit of dust clinging to the tufts of its tail.

How had the thing found its way out of the ducts and into _here_?

At the thought of the multitude of embarrassing interruptions in meetings…the petty arguments between his staff, and the loathsome scratches above his head in the night…Moriarty came to a fairly easy decision. He strolled up to the bed, slid the revolver from his inside jacket pocket, and set it level with the kitten’s head. “Poor little thing,” he crooned, sickly sweet. “I’d take you outside first, to spare the sheets,but I’ve been needing to shoot something all day and I’m rather impatient.” He cocked the gun. “Sorry.”

The kitten gazed up at him dumbly. Then it crawled forward and sniffed at the revolver. Mewing curiously, it licked the barrel, then tried to chew on it with a clack of teeth.

Moriarty glared at it. Stupid thing didn’t even realize. It paused in its chewing and blinked up at him, eyes wide, mouth settled around the gun barrel. So accepting of the death it held between its teeth.

“Me too,” he murmured.

The kitten went back to its gnawing, bringing its paws up to grasp at the gun. Its coloring was completely masked by a layer of grime and dust, body thin from malnutrition. And yet, it lived. It had spent considerable time in the walls of Jim Moriarty’s criminal empire, and it had lived.

Perhaps that was the reason for his next decision.

Prying the gun from the kitten’s mouth, he tossed it carelessly to the mattress. The kitten tried to follow to investigate, but he held it back with a hand. “The last thing I need,” he growled to the little creature, “is for Holmes to laugh his ass off at my funeral because I was shot by a cat.”

Squeaking as though in agreement, the kitten sat back on its haunches. It watched with wide amber eyes as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and shoved his sleeves up. It did move again when he yanked off the tie, jumping to bat at the strip of fabric. Heaving a groaning sigh, Moriarty threw the tie out of reach, scooped up the kitten, and swept out the door.

Sebastian made to pass him in the hall on his way to the kitchen. Then he did a double-take and stopped dead. “What is that?”

“Your grandmother.” Moriarty shot him a sour look. “It’s the insufferable thing that’s been in my ceiling, that _you_ refused to kill.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows flicked up. “Looks like you refused too.”

“I’m going to set your room on fire while you sleep.”

“You couldn’t kill a cat, what makes you think you could kill your tiger?”

Moriarty halted at the threshold of the kitchen and scowled at his sniper’s retreating back. As though sensing his gaze, Sebastian glanced back with a cheeky curve to his mouth. “Have fun, kitten,” he called, before vanishing around the bend to his own rooms.

Surely he’d been referring to the actual kitten. Moriarty continued to the kitchen sink and ignored the flush creeping up his neck.

A minute later, he had the sink brimming with soapy water, slicked-down kitten in his hands. It was a squirming thing, grumbling at his attempts to clean it. He hissed as it clawed into his wrist. Though he had to admit, he kind of liked it. It was a fighter and completely undeterred by who he was, not even aware of it. Moriarty smoothed down the fur between the kitten’s ears. It was a female, colored ash-grey with darker tabby stripes. He still stroked her as the water drained away, thumbing the stripes between her eyes. Realizing that the bath was over, she leaned into his touches with a purr.

Suddenly aware of what he was doing, Moriarty stopped the childish petting and reached for a towel.

He owned no cat food of any kind, but there was fish and she seemed to like that. He found himself leaning against the counter, watching her lick at a bowl. He supposed there were plenty of idiots in the world who would want a cat. Easy to get rid of. But he’d put up with her for so long now. It felt almost like a betrayal to throw her out.

Christ, I’m going soft, he lamented silently.

Having finished her meal, the kitten wandered over to him and meowed. Moriarty frowned. “What?” he asked snappishly. In response, she butted her head into his shoulder. Then hooked her claws into his shirt and climbed up his arm. “If you rip this, I will make you into a hat,” he complained. But he didn’t shove her off, not even when she made it to his head and sniffed at his hair. Her purring started up again, right at his ear, and she nuzzled her way into the crook of his neck. He had never had anyone touch such a vulnerable place on him, ever, and even if it was just a cat, it made him feel…off.

He vowed to stick her in a bag and drown her in a river if she kept this up.

But he never did.

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

Sebastian did not consider himself to be a weak man. He eliminated people from buildings away or point-blank range and neither caused any twitch of an eye or clench in his chest. He wasn’t trained to be weak or emotional, he was trained as a rifle, cold and trigger-ready.

Maybe that was why he was so dumbfounded by the twist of _something_ in his chest when he walked into the living room and found his boss cuddling with a kitten.

Jim—Er, Moriarty—was fresh from a meeting, it seemed: immaculate suit, this one a dark, velvety maroon, black tie, socks propped up on the coffee table. The only imperfection was found in two rebelliouswisps of hair falling loose on the side of his forehead. _Hardly an imperfection,_ Sebastian thought, paused in the doorway stupidly.

Queen, Moriarty’s ashen cat, was leaning her head into his hands as he pet her, scratching behind her ears and down her back. Her purrs were audible from across the room, paws kneading happily into his stomach. He had the most endearing half-smile on his face, a gentle quirk of the mouth that was so out of character, it made Sebastian’s heart flutter. He wanted to punch himself for thinking like this. Moriarty was his boss, and the most dangerous criminal mind in the world. He was hardly the person that should be making Sebastian feel like a lovestruck idiot.

Queen gave a small meow, stretching her head out to touch her nose to Moriarty’s. His smile broadened. “My little queen,” he cooed, smoothing his thumbs across her cheeks. He seemed to smitten with her. Sebastian felt a bit awkward witnessing this softness from such a man, and wondered if he should leave; he was sure that Moriarty wouldn’t want to be caught—

“Are you going to get to work sometime this year or would you like to keep staring like a fool in the doorway, Sebastian?”

Damn.

Sebastian swallowed, as Moriarty’s dark eyes finally flicked up to lock onto him in the doorway. “You knew I was here?” he asked, trying for his usual confidence. Though he bet it didn’t matter. Moriarty could read his emotions faster than Sebastian could feel them at times.

“Of course,” Moriarty scoffed. “I’m a genius criminal mind with multiple people and countries out to kill me. If I couldn’t tell when I’m being watched, I’d be dead by now.”

“Humble too,” Sebastian deadpanned.

“Oh, shut up.” Then Moriarty lifted his chin slightly, watching Queen’s eyes drift shut under his petting. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “What question?”

“If you’re going to start your job or keep watching me.” Sebastian’s mouth opened but no words surfaced. Moriarty’s smile shifted more toward that devil’s smirk he was so known for. “Personally, I’d prefer the former, but I certainly don’t mind being such an effective distraction for my stone-cold sniper,” he all but crooned, preening.

Sebastian would’ve loved to put a bullet through his foot. He arched a brow. “ _Your_ sniper?”

“Well, you do work for me, Moran.”

“Somehow, I doubt that’s what you meant.”

“Somehow, I doubt you mind.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh please. This is useless.” Taking his feet from the table, Moriarty bent to place Queen delicately on the floor. Then he let his elbows rest on his knees and slanted a look up at Sebastian. “I observe, remember, ‘bastian? There isn’t a thing I miss. And I _know_ you rather like being my Tiger,” he murmured.

Sebastian had leaned a hand against the doorframe earlier and now it felt like it was the only thing holding him up. He didn’t deny it—he couldn’t, but there was danger in confirming it too. So he just stood, gaze fixed on the spider eyeing him across the room. His fingers were shaking. It confirmed more than his speaking ever could.

Moriarty’s expression changed again, this time to something darker, but sinfully tempting. He pushed up from the couch, smoothing the front of his suit jacket. Then he took a sidling step toward Sebastian.

Sebastian panicked. “I have work to do,” he said quickly, dropping his eyes from Moriarty's and shoving off from the doorframe. He had strode from the room and off down the hall to his before another word could be spoken.

Moriarty stayed where he was, standing in the middle of the lavish living room, alone. He watched Sebastian’s retreating back until he disappeared. Then he huffed a sigh, rolling his eyes. He may have been a damn good sniper, Moriarty’s best security and employee, but he could really be such a painful coward at times. Sneaking a glance at the mirror placed above the mantle, Moriarty regarded himself lazily. He’d been sure the new suit would get the sniper’s attention and if it didn’t push him to act, the way Moriarty handled the cat would.

People found something so magnetic with lethal things playing gentle.

He gave a half-lidded glance down at Queen winding around his legs. Who knew the annoying creature could be so useful?

She mewed up at him and he had to grin. “Not to worry, darling, we’ll get him next time.”


End file.
